This year has been one of upheaval, innovation, and the same old gripes in education. If you’ve been reading my blogs, you already know I’m a bit of a cynic and I sound like a broken record, but let’s face it—education is one of those fields that’s always “on the brink of change,” yet somehow still mired in debates that have been simmering since the invention of chalkboards. This year, however, felt different. Not better, necessarily, but certainly louder.
Take teacher retention, for example. I’ve been writing about the looming teacher shortage crisis since the mid-2000s and it finally arrived – even a broken clock is correct twice a day. I feel like the proverbial market bear calling for a recession – we all know it’s going to come, but no one really knows when. While we’ve all been wringing our hands about losing good teachers for decades, it seems like everyone is now realising it, and it feels like the haemorrhaging has hit critical mass. Specialised teachers—those rare unicorns who know how to teach physics and calculus or handle 30 kids with varying special needs—are harder to find than a quiet moment in a staffroom. The solutions we hear—better pay, smaller classes, more autonomy—sound great on paper. But when was the last time the words “great on paper” translated into real action? It’s like someone decided we could just keep duct-taping the leaks in the system and hoping it holds. Spoiler alert: it’s not holding.
And then there’s teacher burnout. If 2024 were a Netflix show, it might be titled Burnout: Season Infinity. Teachers are leaving the profession faster than we can train replacements, citing workloads that make Atlas’ boulder look like a beach ball. Some schools are trying to tackle this with wellness programs and team-building exercises, a bit like offering Band-Aids in a war zone. Government is trying to incentivise new teachers to no avail. Entry into teacher-ed courses is at a 10-year low. What teachers really need is systemic change—less admin, fewer standardised tests, and a bit more respect for the complex, soul-crushingly important work they do. Oh, and maybe a lunch break longer than five minutes and the ability to go to the bathroom when they need to.
Speaking of soul-crushing, let’s talk about the shiny new obsession in education: artificial intelligence. AI promises to revolutionise learning, offering personalised lessons and instant feedback. Hmm, we’ve heard that before haven’t we?: Radio, TV, CD-RoM, Internet, Google, spell-check. That sounds fantastic until you realise it’s mainly being used to replace human interaction with algorithms. Sure, Khanmigo might help your kid ace algebra, but it won’t notice when they’re having a bad day or need a pep talk. Call me old-fashioned, but isn’t education supposed to be about more than just regurgitating answers on a screen?
On the brighter side—or maybe just the less depressing side—student-centred learning has been gaining traction. This isn’t a new idea- we’ve been discussing tailoring education to individual needs since Dewey was alive. But this year, schools like Prenda (UK) and Templestow (Aus) have taken the concept to new levels, letting kids design their own curricula and learn at their own pace. It’s a beautiful idea, really, until you picture a 10-year-old trying to explain their self-directed project on “Minecraft and the Art of Avoiding Bedtime” or a 16 yr old trying to justify how TikTok influenced them to drop out of school to follow their passion. Still, I’m cautiously optimistic that this trend could lead to more schools focused on engaged learning, happier students—or, at the very least, fewer kids sleeping through class.
This is, of course, in stark contrast to the ‘new’ teaching and learning craze promulgated throughout Australia – explicit instruction. We are rolling out didactic teaching to revolutionise our schooling systems. The encouragement of such a progressive idea is based on the false premise that explicit instruction is the only teaching method based on cognitive load theory – which uses knowledge of the human brain to design teaching strategies to maximise learning. It provides theoretical and empirical support for explicit models of instruction, in which teachers show students what to do and how to do it, rather than having them discover or construct information for themselves. For most teachers, this is obvious – this is what we do every day. You can read more about those ideas in previous posts.
Of course, none of this matters if we can’t fix the glaring inequities in education. Rural schools, urban schools, underfunded schools—these places aren’t just struggling; they’re in free fall. Paraprofessional training programs are one promising way to address teacher shortages in these areas, but let’s not kid ourselves. Solving systemic inequities requires systemic solutions, which means money, resources, and political will. All things we seem to have in short supply when it comes to education.
And then there’s the role of community. This year has shown that when schools, families, and local organisations collaborate, magic can happen. But it’s the kind of magic that requires effort—actual, sustained effort—not the kind of lip service we’re so good at giving. The idea of community in education is beautiful and necessary, but it’s also inconvenient for anyone who prefers their reform ideas to fit neatly on a PowerPoint slide.
Meanwhile, public education itself feels like it’s under siege. With some corners of the political sphere are flirting with ideas like defunding the Department of Education (USA) or in Australia, where public schools continue to lose share of enrolments to the private and Catholic sectors. It’s hard not to feel like we’re fighting a battle over the very soul of education. These aren’t just policy debates; they’re existential questions about who education is for and what we value as a society.
As I look back on 2024, it’s clear that education is at a crossroads—just like it was in 2023, 2022, and every year I’ve been paying attention. The difference now is that the stakes feel higher, the voices louder, and the room for complacency smaller. Whether we rise to meet these challenges or keep kicking the can down the road remains to be seen.
So, here’s to 2025. Let’s hope it’s the year we stop talking about change and actually make some. Or, at the very least, let’s hope it’s the year teachers finally get that extra five minutes for lunch.
Maximising Student Potential 